A Glimpse Through The Void
by HoneyYouShouldSeeMeInACrown
Summary: Sherlock's final request leaves Molly learning the mysterious detectives biggest secret


Mascara had been a terrible choice. A truly awful choice for the days preparation she decided, wiping away the dark black streaks from her face once more. And yet here she stood, for the third time in the last hour reapplying the make up that would no doubt once more run down her face in less than ten minutes time.

It was stupid to focus on such a trivial thing she knew, but whilst her mind was filled with thoughts of normality at least she wouldn't be thinking about ___him_. Food. Toby needed more food. She'd have to stop at Tesco on the way home, perhaps they'd still have the two for one deal on.

God how could he ask her to do this! This was beyond cruel. To look at him in such a state. He was her friend. Molly pushed her way back from the sink and began to pull on the rubber gloves. Just this morning he and John had stood in the lab talking. Of course with everything going on with the newspapers it hadn't been a usual day at work, though with Sherlock Holmes as a friend nothing was ever ordinary. But his request had been strange, even from the man who asked her to do such things as save him severed toes. He had asked for help. Not in the manipulative way she'd long become accustomed to from him, no a genuine, vulnerable plea for aid. How could she deny him the last request.

With one last glance at her currently carefully applied make up she finally left the bathroom and headed back down to her work space, searching around to ensure she was alone. That had been part one of his request. To make sure no-one else saw a thing. It was peculiar to say the least, the dead generally didn't care who saw them after their final breath had been drawn. But he had been specific in the demand. It had seemed like it would've been too difficult to prevent earlier, John had been frantic in his attempts to get down to see Sherlock's body. Wanting...no needing to be sure. Needing to know whether his best friend was truly gone. Molly had very nearly cracked and led him down there herself, what further harm could it do. It would've given him closure. Thankfully the Detective Inspector had arrived and pulled John away leaving the mortician alone to do her work.

Molly had to pause as she reached the double doors that led into the cold, soulless morgue. This would be the first time she'd seen the body since it was brought in. The first time she'd see Sherlock Holmes, a man normally so alight with life now so still in death. As the tears began to slide down her face once more she forced her way into the room, taking in the sight of the pale bloodied face pointed unseeingly at the white ceiling above. "Why..." she whispered to the empty room. The detective she knew was capable of many things, and from second hand information she knew of his dabbles with drugs. But suicide?! That was something she would never have expected from him. Never.

"John is distraught. I don't think you realise just how much you meant to him." Talking to a corpse...control yourself. It wont help. It wont bring him back. Just do your job. She stilled as she thought back to earlier in the day when Sherlock had pulled her aside. Had she known back then what he was planning then maybe this could've been stopped. Or if she'd broken her promise and read the letter. Well...then perhaps they'd all be sat in the lab once more. Slowly Molly drew the carefully folded paper from her pocket once more running her gaze over the elegant script.

___Molly,_

___If you are reading this then I apologise. I had hoped that I would be able to deviate from this course but outside events have left me with no other choice. It is with desperation that I request a final favour from you. I need you to perform my autopsy. Seemingly it seems to be a strange request I understand but in due course you will understand. I request that you wait an hour after my demise before you begin. Again. Things will become clear. And do please remember, you do count._

___Regards,_

___S.H_

Molly placed the paper down upon the steel table beside gurney, lifting a towel and dipping it into a bowl of water. With a careful hand she began to clean the blood from where it matted the familiar raven curls, searching for the fractures in the skull. This was hardly her first jumper, she knew what to expect. And she was sure what she'd be writing down as cause of death soon enough, severe cranial trauma. Amongst other things. The brain itself would be a mess, the once impressive structure reduced to a mush of blood, fluid and grey matter. And after that there was the rest of the body. A fall from the height would've broken numerous bones, shattering the ankles at minimum. It was likely the veins inside were leaking blood too. Not to mention how much damage would have been caused to the organs, the likelihood was that several would be pulverised.

Or that is how it should have been. In her very first week at Barts one of the first cases she'd seen had been a nineteen year old male who had taken a swan dive off the top of a block of flats. He'd been in a terrible way, any hopes of using the organs for transplant had been tossed aside the minute he'd been opened up. But worst off had been his head, one side of his cranium had been caved in from the impact. Yet as her nimble fingers trailed a path over Sherlock's temple she could feel nothing.

A scream slipped from the mortician's lips as she glanced upwards to see a pair of eyes watching her. Familiar blue irises alight once more. She had just enough time to yank back from the body before orange light engulfed it, the glow unbearable for her own eyes, forcing her to turn her gaze away. This had to be a dream. Or a nightmare rather. How was she being haunted by a dead man in her waking moments. Had Sherlock Holmes finally driven her insane.

But even with her dubious certainty of her own sanity, the feel of a hand grabbing hers didn't feel false. In face it felt like the first moment of clarity she'd had since the moment she'd heard the news. Only when she turned around it wasn't the face of Sherlock Holmes she was staring into and yet the man staring at her wore the same clothes , even the eyes held familiarity. Every fibre of her being was telling her that this was the same man, despite the impossibility of such a fact being true.

His other hand reached out to grip the shocked woman's shoulder, holding her steady as their gazes locked once more. "How about we get a cup of tea and I give you an explanation?"


End file.
